To Befriend A Dragonborn
by MissDelight
Summary: A humorous tale of friendship. The final showdown begins between the last Dragonborn and Miraak in Apocrypha. Miraak is ready to meet his foe head on - but Sina, the Exuberant Bosmer Dragonborn, isn't what he expected at all. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: If you don't want to know how the boss battle in the expansion Dragonborn goes down, then don't read. (Alternatively, you can watch it on YouTube, if you're _really _worried about it. Or just say frak it, and read this anyway! Because caution was made for being thrown to the wind! Also, there are a few differences here.)

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><p>Miraak watched the gray-green, tentacled sky. He knew she would come. It was in her blood.<p>

A furious roar caused Miraak to turn. Squinting, he could barely see his dragon, Sahrotaar, in the distance.

Miraak's mask hid his ferocious scowl as Sahrotaar landed, carrying his adversary. Or perhaps, a small child…? Miraak studied the tiny figure with uncertainty.

"Oh… my… GODS!" shrieked a woman's voice from atop Sahrotaar, filled with more excitement than seemed appropriate to express in public. The shrill squeal of glee from the tiny figure made Miraak stare at his opponent, the fabled last Dragonborn, in shocked disappointment. "FLYING IS AMAZING!"

Sina threw her arms around Sahrotaar, giving the dragon's neck a squeeze.

Miraak heard his dragon make a low sound. He scornfully realized Sahrotaar was chuckling. His dragon did not chuckle. It was undignified. And yet…

"Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?" Miraak asked, staring at his once mighty steed, beaming up at the little elf.

Like a puppy caught being naughty, the dragon looked shamefaced at Miraak, hunching his head.

Sina gracefully slipped from Sahrotaar's shoulders, sliding to the ground with feline dexterity.

"Who's a good boy?" she cooed, holding the dragon's scaly face between her hands; a large, friendly smile on her face.

Miraak stared at his greatest opponent in thousands years, foretold by prophecy, making kissy faces. He felt momentarily bereft of emotion, his feelings flitting between surprise and disappointment. Fate, too, had a cruel sense of humor, it seemed.

"And so the First, meets the Last," he addressed the small elven woman as he advanced toward her. "No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended. He is a fickle master, you know."

He paused at the center of the platform, standing within the black, arcane pool of waters.

"And now, I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over. You will die. And with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again."

The madwoman simply grinned, looking for all intents _bashful _rather than intimidated or prepared to engage in an epic battle.

"Before we start fighting to the death, can I say something, just real quick?"

Miraak waited.

"I just can't believe I'm meeting another Dragonborn!" she screamed in delight, making him truly wonder if she was a mad child of Sheogorath. "We're so rare, I never thought- Hang on a minute. What was that bit you said, 'something blobbity blah blah, _last' _Dragonborn?"

"It is written," he said, with total indifference.

"Huh," Sina said, tapping her chin. "Wonder why."

"Prophecies are rarely forthcoming," he pointed out.

"Very true! Oh, I like you," Sina said sincerely. "Actually, I really don't want to fight. Let's be friends, okay?" she asked with an absurdly sweet smile.

Miraak laughed.

"I thought you were mad before. Now I see you are a fool."

Sina stuck out her tongue.

"Sticks and stones, bestie! I've made up my mind. Dragonborns should stick together. I'll be your friend no matter what!"

Miraak drew his weapon.

"Then you can prove your loyalty, my dear friend, by dying!" he shouted, charging her. "Kruziikrel! Relonikiv! Now!"

His dragons circled overhead, prepared to swoop down on his command.

Sina leapt back, drawing a sword in either hand with a graceful flourish. Though she was not the staunch, Nordic warrior he had expected - he had pictured the last Dragonborn would be a tall man with grizzled features and stony stoicism - she was every bit the fighter he had imagined. Their battle raged, the thu'um of their shouts shaking the sky itself.

Miraak found they were evenly matched neither able to strike the other. Although, when he considered it, he hadn't deflected any attacks. Sina had only pushed him away on occasion with the power of her voice. Increasing the speed of his attacks, he found she was dodging and deflecting him with ease. The tiny elf was toying with him!

"This cannot be," he said in disbelief. "I am master of my own fate!"

"Oh, don't feel bad!" she said, ducking his swing, "Don't give up, you might get me! Keep trying!" she parried his weapon, and rolled away, inviting him to chase.

He glared at his foe. She treated their battle to the death like a game.

"This is the only way, Dragonborn. The only way I can be free."

Sina frowned.

"I doubt that. Why don't we think of something together, best buddy?"

"Best buddy?" he echoed.

"Best friends!" she said with a manic grin.

Once more he found himself gaping at her, dumbfounded.

Gripping his weapon, he charged, shouting ferociously, "Fate decreed that you had to die so that I could win my freedom!"

Sina spun away, but he pressed his attack. Miraak drew his staff in his offhand. Using the black tentacles at his command, he slowed her flight, before catching her square in the ribs with his hammer. The tiny elf fell, rolling down the stairs, clutching her side when she came to a stop, coughing scarlet blood on the stones.

"Felling Alduin was a mighty deed, and I thank you for it," he said, sensing their battle was nearly over. "He would have proven troublesome to me."

He rested a boot on her back, raising his hammer.

"You could have been mighty, if fate had decreed otherwise."

He swung right as a large, blur of scales and muscle barreled into him, driving him back with a roar.

Miraak glared at his dragon in surprise and fury. He pummeled the beast angrily, knocking him away.

"So easily you betray me," Miraak gasped, staggering to his feet. Blood stained his green tunic where Sahrotaar's massive jaw had sunk his sharp teeth. "After all these years."

Before he could kill the dragon and devour his soul, Miraak felt a gut wrenching pull. His body floated against his will, above the black pool of arcane waters. His thu'um was too weak to serve him, and his Daedric granted powers were oddly absent.

"_Did you think to escape me, Miraak?_" he heard the Prince of Fate rumble hatefully. Yes, he certainly had. And probably would have succeeded, had his own godsdamned dragon not attacked him. "_You can hide NOTHING from me here._"

Pain exploded in his chest, as a writhing black tentacle came into view, stabbing him through the back. He could do nothing, save for hanging limply from the Daedric Prince, writhing in agony.

"_No matter. I have found a new Champion to serve me._"

Miraak felt his life force slipping away, as he conjured his last words to mind.

He had no chance to utter them. He fell to his knees, as the tentacle holding him aloft was severed. The black limb disappeared and he collapsed, looking up to see the crouched figure of Sina, swords gripped in her hands, standing between his body and the mass of tentacles that was Hermaeus Mora.

"And who might _that_ be?" she shot back at the great, gold-eyed being.

Miraak watched the Daedric Prince float toward her, his eyesight blurring and body growing cold.

"_Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me. Learn from his example. Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewarded._"

Miraak reached a hand out toward the last Dragonborn. Sina saw him in the corner of her eye, her warm brown eyes looking at him with concern. He wondered if the fragile creature would live the cursed existence he had - if he was bearing witness to her final moments of freedom.

"Beware Hermaeus Mora," he gasped, fingers out stretched. "He will betray you... as he has me."

Sina dropped her swords and sprinted to Miraak's side, opening her pack.

"Oh no you don't! No best friend of mine is bleeding out on my watch!" she shoved all the healing potions she could find into his arms. "It's story time Miraak. Read it to me, quick!"

She held a Black Book in front of him, open to the first page.

Black tentacles snatched at her, but she shouted, becoming ethereal.

"Come on, Miraak! You've got to read to me, now!" she pleaded, unable to look at the book for him, lest she teleport away. Her shout would only last for a minute, as he would know.

He began to read aloud. Wondering if they would be his last words, he spoke, savoring each sound.

"The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see…" his vision grew too dark to see the page, and he heard Sina screaming at him. His uncooperative body made the simple task nigh impossible. Yet somehow, he persevered as his vision momentarily returned, he murmured, "The faint insight... drawn by... the overwhelming... question."

His eyes slid shut, but he sensed a pull just before he lost consciousness.

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><p>Sina stood alone, looking up at Hermaeus Mora.<p>

"_He yet belongs to me. This changes nothing._"

"My dear Hermy," Sina said with a friendly smile. "I don't think he's coming back anytime soon. You really ought to work on your people skills."

Hermaeus Mora descended, floating an inch away from Sina, his great, gold eye staring into her soul.

"_My word is as true as fate. As inevitable as destiny. You will replace Miraak. You will belong to me, Champion. And you _will _serve."_

Black tentacles ripped her book away, enveloping it into darkness, causing it to disappear.

Sina backed away to the edge of the platform.

"I belong to me," she said. With that, she disappeared over the edge.

Sahrotaar's talons snagged her by the arms, jarring her shoulders. Despite the ache in her arms, she found the rush of air exhilarating as he swooped her away, back to the book at the pier.

Hermaeus Mora silently watched her go, slipping back into shadow. He knew she would return. It was written. The last Dragonborn was destined to serve him.

* * *

><p>Miraak dimly heard two women talking above him.<p>

"He doesn't look so good."

"You're not supposed to say that, you're the healer!" he identified this voice as the Dragonborn. "Will he be okay?"

"I'm a priestess, not a soothsayer," the healer replied dryly.

"And not even a friendly one at that. Why is it Nords who know magic are so cross?"

After a moment of silence, Sina exclaimed, "See? That expression. Right there!"

"Just… just go," the healer said in exasperation.

"Alright, c'mon guys. Thanks for your help, Danica."

Miraak groaned as a pair of arms lifted him up.

"Easy!" Sina warned. "He took it really hard from behind-"

He heard two men snickering quietly.

"Oh shut up, both of you! That's not what I meant and you know it!" Sina said sullenly.

"Where do you want him?" a gruff voice asked. "Back in Breezehome?"

"Yeah, that's… that's probably best…"

"You sound uncertain." The same gruff voice came from his other side. Was he delusional? Or did both men sound identical?

"Yeah…" Sina trailed off.

"Who is he?" asked the first, and Miraak was certain both men had identical voices and inflections of speech.

"A power-mad, 5,000 year old Atmoran. He was a Dragon Priest, when dragons ruled over man. He ruled Solstheim, back when it was a part of Skyrim. Then he sided with the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora, because he offered him the power to subjugate dragons. Oh! I forgot to mention, he's a Dragonborn. Well, the Dragonborn, really! First one. Oh, and my new best friend!"

Both men came to a jarring halt, making him groan at the sudden stop.

"You brought a power-mad Dragonborn who can subjugate dragons to _Whiterun_?" one of them demanded.

"Yeah. Hence my uncertainty. There is a _slight _chance he may try to... kill me and absorb my soul. I think we can do that to each other, but, y'know, it's all guesswork since I've never actually met another Dragonborn before."

Miraak heard mirrored exasperated sighs. Probably twins he guessed.

"He can't stay," the man on his right said firmly.

"He's in no condition to travel. And he's my friend. He stays," Sina said sternly.

The two men began dragging him along again, less gently than before.

"This seems like a terrible idea," the man on his left grumbled.

"Absolutely!" Sina agreed enthusiastically.

Their voices faded away as he fell back asleep.

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><p>When Miraak awoke once more, he was instantly aware of the scent of flowers and herbs all around him. A stark contrast to the acrid scents of Apocrypha. He drank in the rich smell of life all around him, opening his eyes and looking around the small room. He was alone in a bed, covered by blankets.<p>

He forced himself out of bed, staggering to his feet. At the foot of the bed he tripped over a pile of clutter, falling to the ground with a resounding _thud_.

He heard footsteps running upstairs, and then the elf woman was in the doorway.

"Oh man, I thought that was what happened! I trip over my adventuring stuff all the time!" she exclaimed, looking from him to her pack. Her weapons, armor, and gear were haphazardly unloaded at the foot of the bed. "We're so alike! It's nice when friends are similar, don't you think?" she asked with a bright smile.

As Miraak struggled to his feet unsteadily she ran over to help him. He spied her swords beneath him and grabbed one, charging her with a fierce yell.

"_Zun haal viik,_" she said calmly, taking a step back.

Her thu'um crashed into his weak body and easily ripped the weapon from his hands.

Sina caught him as he fell, staggering beneath his bulk.

"C'mon best buddy, back to bed," she grunted. "You need to rest for now. You can try to kill me later, okay?"

Miraak bitterly grumbled his indignation as the tiny creature awkwardly carried him back to bed.

"I'll kill you, and return to power…" he muttered.

"Of course you will," Sina said gently, tucking him in under the blankets.

"Solstheim will bow to me as it once did," he added, sounding dull and sluggish.

Sina removed his mask. Setting it on the nightstand, she smoothed back his fair hair, examining his inhumanly bright blue eyes for the first time.

"They won't know what hit them!" she agreed giving him an encouraging smile.

He shook his head at her, confused as ever by her ridiculousness.

"I grieve that you must meet your end, but necessity demands it…" he murmured, closing his eyes, breaths falling more evenly. "One step closer… to my… return."

Sina patted his hand, looking at him sympathetically.

Gathering up all of her weapons around the house, she tossed the giant stack into a chest and locked it.

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><p>Miraak opened his eyes. The room was dim, with only the small light of a candle burning quietly by the door. Sitting up, he tossed aside his blanket and slid out of bed, this time careful to avoid the wares piled up on the floor. Walking out of the room, he descended the stairs. His body was still weak and shaking, causing him to move slowly.<p>

Sina laid beside the fire pit on the first level of the quiet house, cocooned in blankets. He watched her chest rise and fall, but chose to stride past her and out the door. Killing the Dragonborn in their sleep was beneath him.

Outside, he saw the twin moons high in the night sky, illuminating the empty street. His breath came out in a long, white stream, and the chill of Skyrim crept in through his clothing.

In his more recent visits to Skyrim, he had been incorporeal, projecting an illusionary visage of his body. Now, he moved freely as flesh and blood, smelling the smoke of the fire pits and savoring innumerable details he had not sensed in five thousand years.

Following the path to his left, he came upon a gate leading to the outside.

A pair of guards approached him as he crossed the bridge.

"Whoa there traveler," a guard said, his Nord accent thick. "Who, are you?"

At that moment, he realized his mask was still lying back in the elf's house. He felt oddly naked being seen without it. People were much easier to intimidate when one's face was unknown.

Miraak folded his arms. Even in his current half-dead state, these men were nothing to him. He could kill them both with a word.

"Wait, I remember you," said the other guard. "You were with the Dragonborn and the Companions, at the Temple. Sorry friend, can't be too careful - vampires are on the loose. Best be on your guard."

Turning to open the gate, they abruptly stopped, hearing a splash.

Miraak and the two men held their breaths, straining to locate the origin of the sound, before a second splash was heard, somewhere beneath them.

Drawing their silver blades and lighting torches, the guards approached the edge of the bridge.

Miraak squeezed his hands into tight fists. Electricity came crackling to life as they heard more splashing from below.

The guards squinted into the shadows and illuminated the rippling water with their torches.

Miraak heard a wet _hiss_.

The guards scrambled back, yelling frantically and clawing at their helmets. After barely managing to wrench them off, Miraak watched in perverse amusement as they frantically threw their helms onto the ground. A bubbling, yellow substance burned through the steel, eating through the metal. The men appeared pale faced and mildly burned, but intact.

Distracted by the spectacle, Miraak turned at the sound of wet footsteps just in time to find a group of monstrous creatures leaping onto the bridge. Their bodies were leathery and ashen gray, with a chitinous growth covering their joints. Fins ran across their hunched heads, which housed empty, fish-like eyes, and gaping mouths that gave way to rows of needle teeth.

Miraak recognized the vile creatures as Lurkers - a species of Daedra from the murky waters of Apocrypha.

Their horrible mouths opened wider, pouring forth legions of black tentacles as the gang of Lurkers swarmed the three men.

"_VEN GAAR NOS!_" Miraak shouted, hands drawn back and body leaned forward to absorb the recoil of his words. His shout erupted into a powerful cyclone, causing a furious wind to blow in every direction. The cyclone flew forth, enveloping three of the creatures and sending them careening from the bridge. Far in the distance, he could hear them crash painfully into a wall with lethal force.

Only three more Lurkers remained.

The guards met them bravely with their swords drawn before battling furiously against the hideous Daedra with wild swings and shouts. Miraak could tell they were horribly outmatched as the Lukers brought their large legs down, staggering the Nords and making them feeble.

Knowing it was futile, Miraak threw his lightning bolts at the final Lurker anyway. The beasts were heavily resistant to magic, but he had no other weapon, and without his powerful Dragon Priest mask, his magicka depleted quickly.

Stripped of his weapons and with his magicka reserves empty, he felt the dreadful sense of his own mortality come over him. Claws tore at him while he fought, his fists swinging frantically, in a vain attempt to try and buy time to shout again.

The Lurker stomped, causing him to stagger, and he watched helplessly as writhing tentacles appeared beneath his feet. Unable to flee, he felt the piercing sting of their poison. He heard the guards collapse and felt his own knees buckle as the Lurkers continued their onslaught, staggering and poisoning their bodies.

Miraak watched the mindless Lurker raise its clawed hand, reaching back to strike the fatal blow across his throat. Time slowed to a crawl. He had lived too long and seen too much to die now. His mind centered bitterly on one thought. His freedom from Hermaeus Mora had been all too short, but worth every second.

He smiled sinisterly at the Lurker, greeting death with a defiant grin.

Before the Lurker's claw could strike his throat, an arrow buried itself in the side of its head. The beast lost its footing as it stumbled back. Righting itself, it came toward him, only to sprout two more arrows, perfectly placed beside the first.

Its empty eyes remained unchanged, but its body looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut as it collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

The poisonous tentacles still writhed around him, causing him to become disoriented and feverish. His body began to twitch and his breathing became labored.

He felt and heard the powerful shout of the Dragonborn, the sound stirring his dragon blood.

"_FUS...RO DAH!_"

The shout was not one that he knew, but it seemed similar to his Cyclone shout. The Lurkers were thrown violently with incredible force, and he heard the sound of several bowstring snaps quickly follow. Even without looking, he could tell the Lurkers were no more.

Miraak lay on the ground, gasping for air. He looked up silently at the night sky, reveling in the fact that he was still alive, until a familiar face blocked his view. A cold hand touched his forehead.

"Auriel, you're burning up!" Sina exclaimed.

He tried to sit up, but before he could fully rise he heard a Whirlwind Sprint shout and she was gone.

His head fell back to the ground and he stared at the night sky, wishing his vision was clear. Unable to admire the stars he had gone so long without, he gave up and closed his eyes, attempting to shut out his pounding headache. He could feel his mind deteriorating, and he felt himself becoming more and more disoriented.

A small arm around his back hauled him up, and he felt someone place a potion at his lips.

He drank the bitter potion and almost immediately felt better. The fog before his eyes began to clear and his breathing became more regular.

"How are you feeling now, bestie?" Sina asked, giving him a friendly shake.

Miraak looked at her in confusion and disbelief, wondering if his mind was not still deteriorating.

"Why in Oblivion do you keep saving me?!" he exclaimed. "We are not friends! I will kill you and absorb your soul to restore myself to power. You do comprehend this, do you not?"

"Yep!" she said with a nod.

Sina cast a healing spell on him, making him sigh in exasperation.

"_This_. This is what I don't understand," he said, his fever fading under her spell.

"That's alright," she said, hefting one of his arms over her shoulder. "You don't have to."

"You're mad," he muttered, letting her walk him back to the house.

"Maybe!" she said with a laugh. "But I told you before. I've made up my mind. I'll be your friend, no matter what!"

Sina fumbled with the door, managing to kick it in and haul the large Atmoran upstairs with great effort.

"Okay," she panted, tossing his bulk back on the bed. "No more wandering off. I don't want to drag you up those stairs again. Now, is there anything I can get for you? Because, and I don't mean any offense, but you look _really _pale. Like, deathly pale."

Miraak groaned. He felt worse than he looked in fact.

"Another potion."

Sina nodded.

"Right," she said. "Let me round up some chitin, eyes, and charred- you know what, you're better off not knowing what's in it. Be right back."

She returned not long after, potion in hand.

She helped Miraak sit up and drink it.

He felt its effects immediately as the poison further dissipated. He could feel his body's defenses growing stronger as his health and stamina were simultaneously restored.

"Thank you for your help," he said, laying back.

"You're not going to shake your head at me for being nice?" she asked with a laugh.

"I'm too tired," he said, sinking his head down into the pillow. "Besides, it's not worth the effort."

Sina grinned.

"Aw, you're welcome. You're pretty swell, for a power-hungry, egomaniac, you know that?"

Miraak further buried his head back in the pillow, trying to escape her chipper attitude.

"Divines smite me now," he implored cynically.

"Well, if you really want, I can just leave you there next time," she said with a snarky grin.

Miraak gave her a look of exasperation.

"You are without doubt the most insufferable, absurd person I have ever met."

Sina snickered, covering him with the blanket.

"Friends giving it to each other straight! See? We're already giving each other honest observations, this is great! Good night, Miraak. If you need anything, just call me."

As she left, Miraak stopped her.

"Dragonborn?" he asked.

"Sina," she corrected, turning around.

"Sina…" he said. "Why are you caring for me? It won't change my mind about our final battle."

Sina drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the door frame.

"If you're interest is romantic or physical, I-" Miraak began.

"Stop!" she said, holding up her hands, not wanting to hear which way he was steering the conversation. "I'm not trying to get you into bed… okay, poor choice of words," she mumbled, looking at him laying in her bed. "My interest is not romantic or physical. You and I, we're probably the only Dragonborns in the world - we can relate to each other in a way other people can't. I just want to be here for you, as your friend. Sometimes it's hard to find one solid, dependable friend in life, and I thought maybe we could be that for each other. And I have a hunch we've both been living in isolation for a very long time."

Sina blew out the candle on the desk.

"I'm keeping you up, though. Get some rest, Miraak. And don't worry. If the Lurkers come back, they'll have to go through me."


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Translations posted at the end. Enjoy ^_^

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><p>Miraak shivered in his sleep, muttering incoherently.<p>

As he felt the icy grip of dark, cold tentacles upon his body, he began to toss and turn fitfully. He opened his mouth to shout, but the chilling bonds around him constricted, crushing the air from his lungs. Unable to breath, he was dragged between rows of books, through a maze of horrific shelves, toward a terrifying void. He looked at the center, and saw a single, gold, eye staring back at him. Waiting.

A knock at the door caused him to wake with a start.

The bleak walls of Apocrypha vanished, replaced by the quaint, Whiterun cottage of the last Dragonborn. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes roamed toward the windows, taking in the warm sunlight streaming in. His dream lingered on a moment longer, dissolving in the light of day. The last thing to fade, was the all too real feeling of those writhing, icy limbs crushing his arms, while an ominous voice inside his mind whispered, "_Mine_."

Whether a fevered concoction of his subconscious, or a sinister torment from his former master, he could only wonder. He put aside his introspections as the door opened.

In strode the Dragonborn, Sina, holding a steaming bowl of soup.

"Good morning!" she sang happily. As always, she wore a positively radiant expression of good cheer.

Miraak glared back dispassionately in return, dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Hey, that's another thing we have in common - I'm not a morning person either!" Sina said, giggling at his gloomy expression.

Miraak glowered at her, watching her set the bowl down and scoot onto the bed beside him.

"How's my patient today?" she asked, watching him struggle to sit up on his own.

The 5,000 year old Atmoran grunted, forcing himself up through sheer tenacity.

"I will be your destruction," he replied, winded. "Though as much as I wish it, that day, will not be today."

Sina merely chuckled, the strange, little Bosmer evidently amused as ever.

"Having something to look forward to is important. It should help you recover faster," she said with a smirk, offering him a spoonful of broth.

"You want me to look forward to your demise," he said flatly. "Your insanity knows no bounds."

Sina held out the spoon, waiting patiently.

Miraak continued to stare at her as if she were a lunatic, before opening his mouth and accepting the food.

He ate in silence, only pausing to glare at the tiny Bosmer when she tried making '_ahhh'_ noises, as if she were feeding an infant. Sina snickered under his glare, though she did stop the infantile behavior.

"Are you grumpy because you're so incredibly old?" she asked. Though her tone was innocent, he thought he spied a playful glint in her eyes.

Miraak ignored her, gauging his injuries. He felt disturbingly listless.

"Or," Sina said thoughtfully, blowing on the soup to cool it before giving him another bite, "Did spending 5,000 years in Apocrypha put you in a foul mood?"

He sighed, finding her voice impossible to block out.

"My mood is typical," he said in a tired voice, wishing he could tune her out. "It just seems out of place compared to you."

Sina set aside the empty bowl and opened her night stand drawer.

"The grouch debate, and how incredibly right I am, will have to be tabled for now. It's bandage redressing time."

Miraak watched doubtfully as Sina dug through a disarray of items. It looked like chaos. Watching her haphazardly rifle through her belongings, he could not decide if there was method to her madness or not. Perhaps a metaphor for the elf herself he thought, as Sina produced a roll of bandages and a jar of salve.

She helped him remove his robe and began unraveling the bandages from his chest.

"You know," she said, placing his arms on a pillow to give her a better position, "some people say when you lose something, it's like there's a big hole in your chest. _This_, however, is far too literal."

Miraak ignored the pain burning in his chest, sitting perfectly still as she worked.

"Had things gone to plan," he said, "we would have battled as was prophesied. You would be dead. And I would be sitting on a throne in Solstheim." He dreamily pictured a quiet evening surrounded by his cultist worshipers, toasting their plans for world domination, drinking from the skulls of his enemies, and inviting several concubines to his bed chamber. Those were the days.

"Yep, but things turned out way better!" Sina said with a smile.

Miraak turned to give her a scathing look, but she was intently focused as she removed the last layer of cloth. She paused, reaching the blood soaked layer of his bandages.

"Shame on Hermy for doing this," Sina said stubbornly, her voice filled with disapproval. "It's not right."

"Not right?" he echoed with a hollow laugh. "I rebelled against a demon god. In his own realm no less. I can think of fates worse than death. For a Daedric Prince, I may well consider this an act of generosity."

At his comment, Sina kicked her night stand violently, causing the contents to shake as it struck the wall.

Miraak raised a thoughtful eyebrow, watching intently as she muttered to herself about 'Daedric Prince standards', carefully reaching out to touch his wound once more. Anger was a rare and intriguing sight against her cheerful demeanor. A strange feeling of affinity, tiny and fleeting, rose unbidden somewhere in the back of his mind. He suppressed it with an iron grip, infuriated by the passing notion. They were not friends, they would not be friends. It was a trick of his mind and the depleted state of his body, which gave him any inkling that he and the Dragonborn were in any way similar.

The little Bosmer sucked in a breath of surprise as she peeled away the last of his bandages.

"That's not- Oh, no…" she began, looking petrified.

Her eyes met his, as she glanced up in alarm.

"I mean, um, um, sweet abs! Very chiseled," she said with an eager nod, quickly replacing the bandage with a fresh one. "I'll be right back. With Danica. To, um... show her your awesome abs!"

He watched her dash out the door, vault over the railing, and descend down the staircase.

"Nothing at all to worry about!" she yelled from downstairs. The front door shut with a loud slam, and he heard the distant sound of Sina's Whirlwind Sprint shout.

He let out a gruff sigh, now all but certain he was dying.

With great effort he undid his bandage. Black ink welled from his wound where Hermaeus Mora had impaled him. As he watched, he saw the pitch substance begin to writhe. Quickly clamping his bandage back down, he laid back, staring at the ceiling in dismay.

Lurker venom, he thought, thinking back on his encounter from the previous evening.

His wound was infected.

* * *

><p><em>Torvald…<em> a small voice whispered.

Torvald looked around, wandering through dense, early morning fog. Someone was calling for him, their small voice barely audible above the crashing tide and screams of hungry dragons hunting for prey. He searched through the trees, running across snow and pine needles, unable to find his way.

_Torvald? Brother, where are you?_

He followed the voice and burst free of the woods, and onto the beach.

A tiny girl ran through the waves of foam along the coast, searching for him and calling his name. Her red dress was soaked up to her chest, and long hair cascaded down her back, bouncing as she ran.

_Silje! _he shouted back.

Grinning excitedly, Silje sprinted over, kicking up sand.

_Brother! You found me!_ she giggled, throwing her arms around his waist.

_Don't wander without me, _he chided, giving her a stern look. _Do you want to be a dragon's breakfast?_

_You'd save me,_ she laughed, grabbing his arms and spinning him about. _Brother could kill a dragon! Shout, Torvald! Please? Please, please, please?_

He couldn't refuse, not when she looked at him with such awe. Torvald dug his heels in, facing the waves. He drew a deep breath, focusing hard on the word.

"_VEN!_"

The shout hit the air and began to spin, producing a cyclone that ripped through the waves, causing a typhoon to rise as high as a giant.

Silje clapped and hollered.

_Brother is amazing! No one is stronger! _she said proudly.

Torvald simply nodded. His thu'um was stronger than anyone else of his age, and he trained hard. He would grow up to be the strongest man in Skyrim, there was no doubt in his mind. Power was everything. Men without it died. Those who had it lived. And those who had the most, made the rules.

_Torvald? _Silje asked. Her voice was deeper, and she had grown taller. He frowned, seeing her eyes filled with tears of frustration. _We can't play at the beach anymore. The dragons burned the wharf and ate the fishermen._

He understood her pain. The beach of Solsteim was theirs, as far as either sibling was concerned. Of all the places in Skyrim, it was the only one that felt like home.

_I'll get our beach back_, he promised. _I just need to get stronger._

Time skipped forward and Torvald aged into a man. His thu'um grew, his magic flourished, and his skill with blades improved as he rigorously honed himself. The discovery of a strange, black book had taken him to the land of Apocrypha, where he began to learn how to harness the minds of men. A Daedric Prince now whispered in his ear, lavishing him with forbidden knowledge he never dreamed possible; the ability to subjugate dragons.

_You did it!_ Silje said, smiling proudly at him, now a young woman. _The beach is ours again. I'm going to build a home riiiiight… here!_ she said, pointing to a handsome plot of land.

_The old men asked me to help slay Alduin_, Torvald said, scoffing at the thought.

Silje frowned thoughtfully.

_You could probably do it…_ she said, trailing off. A silent agreement passed between them. Let the old 'heroes', Hakon One-Eye, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, and Felldir the Old, try their hands.

Torvald had more important plans. What mattered most now, was ruling. He already controlled Solsteim as a Dragon Priest. Now all he had to do, was control the dragons. Alduin could be dealt with later, if it came to that. He needed to master his country. Nothing would enslave him or Silje. No one would take their freedom or their beach. He just needed more power.

_Torvald, that's a strange mask._

A sudden sense of déjà vu came over him.

_A gift from the dragons of the north_. _They call it 'Miraak'._

A dream, he realized, watching his younger self. One he had not had in some time.

Silje smiled, putting a hand on his mask.

_It suits you,_ she said proudly. _Tell me, Torvald. Why do you want power?_

Surprised by her question, he gave it some thought.

_I want to rule,_ he said after a short while.

_And why do you want to rule?_

_So nothing can control my destiny, _he replied. _I will be the master of my fate._

Silje nodded.

_Good. But you should strive for more. Whatever happens… Promise me, that you'll be free, _and _happy._

He nodded, thinking on her words. What made him happy?

Battle. Triumph. _Power_.

What more was there? What more could there be? With power, he had the ability to change the world around him, to shape it in any way he desired. Surely that would bring happiness? He would only know, if he first became powerful.

_I must fight Vahlok. When I defeat him, I will rule over men, priests, and dragons alike._

Silje placed his mask upon his face.

_Then go, _she said with a bright smile. _No one is stronger than my brother. Nothing can stand against you, Miraak._

* * *

><p>Miraak sensed magic pulsing through his body.<p>

He could feel himself absorbing the souls of dragons. A scream tore from his throat, as dozens of souls flowed into him all at once.

The power coursed steadily through him, wave after wave, almost more than he could bear.

As he opened his eyes, a cascade of fair hair passed the corner of his eye.

"Silje…?" he asked in confusion, looking around.

The room was in turmoil. Black smoke pulsed everywhere, swirling and flowing through a dark crystal levitating above his chest. With a loud _crack!_ the magic erupted in an explosion of light, temporarily blinding him.

A painful sizzle in his chest made him bolt upright, grabbing blindly at his wound. Casting a candlelight spell, he watched in amazement as his injury bubbled and disappeared with an audible hiss, the venomous black ink evaporating in a plume of steam like water on a forge.

A gleam atop the blanket caught his eyes, and he reached for whatever it was.

What he found was cold and hard beneath his fingers. Curious, he held it up to the light.

A black soul gem twinkled in his hand. A vessel for holding human souls. Why such a thing would be… he quickly stood, looking around the room in the muted light of his spell.

Beside the bed, he found Sina sprawled on the floor.

Miraak knelt down and picked up the limp Bosmer.

At first he thought it a trick of the light, when he looked down to see her once vibrant hair now pale. Somehow it was fairer than his own, the brown replaced by silver.

"Hey… best buddy," she murmured with a smile. "You're okay."

The tiny Dragonborn began to shiver violently. Miraak stared at her, conflicted. She looked disconcertingly fragile, laying on the floor, shaking and cold.

"What did you do?" Miraak asked, taking the blanket from the bed and wrapping her up in it.

"Magic!" she squeaked groggily. "I'm like a walking soul stone, ya know? I'm full of dragon souls. And, you can absorb those too, so I…" she trailed off, eyes sliding shut.

Miraak shook her.

"Ah!" she said, waking up. "Right, souls and stuff! So, I kind of soul trapped myself. Then pushed some of the souls trapped inside of me, into you! Well, sort of... I actually used them to re-animate you. Not that you were a corpse, but it's a similar process, if you know what you're doing," she smiled, clearly exhausted. "Oh, and you have to not be shy about using souls as energy." She groaned, putting a hand to her head. "I think you got some of _me_ in the exchange. Clumsy thing for me to do, but I'm... rusty. So, not to be overly dramatic or anything, but I may or may not be dying. Difficult to tell."

Miraak picked her up, grumbling about the foolishness of her predicament, as he proceeded down the stairs.

Opening the door with one hand, they both emerged onto the street. The moon was high in the night sky.

Miraak spotted a wandering guard.

"You! Where is the healer? Danica?" he demanded.

"Won't help," Sina whispered, shaking harder than before in her blanket. "Need a… necromancer."

Miraak looked up at the guard expectantly, who was staring unhelpfully at the two Dragonborns.

"Well?" Miraak asked him in irritation. "Where is the Necromancer?"

"We don't have a Necromancer!" the guard declared abhorrently. "Those are dark magics."

Miraak grabbed the guard by his tunic, pulling him up to meet his unnatural Atmoran height.

"A _wizard_ or a _sorceress _then. I don't care. Just tell me something _useful_ quickly, or 'dark magics' will be the least of your concerns," he snarled, his thu'um shaking the ground.

"C-court wizard," the guard stammered, pointing toward a towering strong hold.

Sina snickered as Miraak dropped the guard and strode up the stairs, away from the Plains District.

"I like to hassle the guards when they get uppity, too. 'No shouting, no magic, stop stealing our stuff.' They're a bunch of- Ugh," Sina's eyes widened and she held her breath, looking ill.

"Do not throw up on me," Miraak warned, giving her a stern glare as he hurried past the large tree, Gildergreen.

"I would never throw up on you," Sina said demurely.

"Good."

"...on purpose…" she added in a sing-song whisper.

"I will drop you in the reservoir," Miraak said, ascending the staircase to Dragonsreach.

Sina glanced down at the water on either side of their path.

"Joke's on you," she said, sticking her tongue out. "I'm wearing a water breathing pendant."

"Halt!" shouted a pair of guards. "Who goes- AH!"

Sina heard a splash on either side of the staircase.

"They do _not_ have pendants," she said with a sly grin. "But Nords can swim, even in armor. Usually," she added, sounding less convinced as she considered it.

Miraak made a sound of indifference.

"Hey," Sina said, her voice dropping to a frail whisper, as he pushed aside the doors to Dragonsreach. "Do me one favor? Please, don't tell Farengar what I did."

Sina's eyes slid shut once more. Miraak stopped and stood in the large hall, shaking the Bosmer Dragonborn.

"Farengar?" he repeated uncertainly, but Sina was completely unconscious.

"Yes?" a man's voice called out in a thick Nord accent.

Miraak found the source in a study beside a large dining room.

"You're the court wizard?" he demanded, once again wishing he had had the foresight to put his mask on. His introduction was much more impressive when he wore it.

Farengar glared up at the tall stranger in green robes, trimmed with gold. There were three things the court wizard disliked above all others. Adventurers, interruptions, and inane questions.

"No," he replied cynically, "Actually, I'm the chef. I wear these robes as a fashion statement and this scroll in my hand is, in point of fact, a recipe for sweet rolls."

Farengar was momentarily astounded by the unnatural blue of the man's eyes, as he sleepily looked over the tall stranger holding a blanket. However, feelings of exhaustion, irritability from a long day of work, and generally wanting to go to bed made him peevish.

"Which of the guards let you in?" Farengar asked, sitting back in his seat and tossing aside his scroll with a sigh.

"The one that's in the bottom of your pond outside," Miraak said.

Without a word, he strode forward and swept Farengar's desk clear with his forearm. Papers, books, gems, and potion bottles fell to the floor with a loud crash. Farengar, much to Miraak's satisfaction, looked livid up until he plopped the blanket containing Sina down in front of him.

"Fix her," Miraak ordered.

"Fix her?" Farengar echoed, jumping from his chair. "What broke the _Dragonborn?_"

The court wizard tenderly ran a hand through her silver locks, muttering an incantation.

"The magicka's been stripped from her hair!" he shouted incredulously. Placing a hand on either side of Sina's face he studied her intently, his hands lit with a kind of detection spell Miraak was vaguely familiar with. "What caused this?"

_Please, don't tell Farengar what I did._

Miraak looked at Sina, considering.

"Someone used a black soul gem to siphon a portion of her soul away," he said, omitting who that 'someone' was. "I am now in possession of it. Can you reverse it?"

Though Miraak understood the fundamentals of such magics (many bored hours had lead to some _interesting_ reading in Apocrypha, to say the least), but his mastery lay in destructive spells and enchantments of enslavement.

Farengar absently drummed his fingers along his desk, his mind working.

"Transmuting human souls into energy using a black soul gem conduit… I cannot cast that sort of magic," he said, gazing intently at the much less sinister looking pink soul gems strewn across his floor. "Repurposing a black soul gem in such a fashion… Only the most powerful of necromancers could possibly know that kind of magic."

Lost in thought, Farengar did not notice the slow, skeptical look Miraak bestowed upon the small woman laying on the desk.

"They would also have to be an intellect of pure evil, to be sure," the Nord wizard went on, stroking his chin and sounding intrigued despite himself. "A mastermind of necromancy and transmutation. To meet such an interesting and fearsome person-" he paused, forcing himself back to the current business. "Ah, right. Let me see what I can do."

After a moment of careful consideration, Farengar levitated three of the grand soul gems from the floor into the air above Sina. Constructing an impromptu web of gold runes in the air with a flurry of practiced motion, he trapped each gem into an individual circle. A small orb of white light burned to life within each crystal, the grand souls feeding into the web of power.

"This will root her soul in place for a short time. I need to find an… ingredient. From the Hall of the Dead. Do not let anything disturb these soul gems until I return."

Farengar quickly grabbed a staff from beside the door and left, a spectral wolf leaping forward from thin air after him with a loud _crack! _of magic_._

Miraak stood over his rival, trying to work out how he had gone from trying to kill the Dragonborn to posing as a vigilant protector.

A tingle ran across his spine, and he knew they were not alone.

Slowly turning a wary eye over his shoulder, he scowled, and bolts of lightning came crackling to life in his hands.

A great, gold oculus hovered behind him at the center of a wretched, writhing black void of lesser eyes and tentacles.

"_Miraak_," the Daedra greeted him in his indifferent, reverberating voice. "_My old Champion_."

The Dragonborn straightened, staring dispassionately into the large eye of the Prince of Fate.

"If you've come to finish me, you'll find me quite capable of defending myself," he said, still feeling the raw, burning power of the new dragon souls whispering within him. "The lurkers you set upon me lacked a personal touch."

"_And why do you think I still care about you?_" Hermaeus Mora asked, almost mockingly. "_I am here to protect my current investment._"

Black tentacles took hold of the small Bosmer, lifting her from the desk.

Miraak grabbed an enchanted sword from the floor and brought it down, severing them from their host. The Daedric Prince bellowed in anger, his cleaved appendages disappearing into smoke.

"_Trifling Dragon Priest!_" he roared, his numerous, malevolent eyes swiveling to focus solely on Miraak. "_I will see you suffer for a millennium!_"

"The elven Dragonborn's power is _mine_," he growled, digging his heels in and bracing his body against the forces straining within him. "I have no time for you, my _former_ master. You know, there were a lot of forgotten books in Apocrypha. Ancient spells, lost tomes, and forbidden knowledge. But there was one in particular I studied in great detail, should I ever have the chance to escape your realm. _DEYRA… FUSTIR OBLIVION!_"

The shout welled up from the core of his being, and tore savagely from his throat, ripping through the space between them. A black hole slammed into the Daedric Prince, rending his body apart, his screams dwarfed by the roar of the raging winds. Hermaeus Mora vanished, retreating back to his realm before he could be sucked into the plane of Oblivion, his tentacles and eyes disappearing from Dragonsreach.

Miraak stared at his hands, feeling the hum of power run across his skin crackling with electricity. There was more than just the souls of Dragons within him, he was certain now. Sina's soul was giving him strength, granting him more power than he had even while ruling Solsteim at his peak.

"By Ysmir!" he heard a man shout in amazement. A blonde Nord approached him, poised and unafraid. Miraak recognized him as a ruler even before he noticed his crown. "Did you just banish a Daedric Prince?"

"We had a disagreement over the legal custody of my soul," Miraak said. "I exercised some... diplomacy, to show him the error of his ways."

A slow, sinister smile crossed Balgruuf the Greater's face.

"How would you like to be my ambassador?" asked the Jarl, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "To the Thalmor."

At that moment the doors to Dragonsreach opened and Farengar appeared, covered in dust and cobwebs, with a draugr's disembodied hand still clinging to the hem of his robes.

"What in Oblivion happened to my study?!" he demanded, stepping around the remains of his bookcases to reach Sina. A sizable number of his books had either been sucked into Oblivion or destroyed, their spines and pages littered across his floor the only indication that he had had any books at all. The Nord glared accusingly at the resident adventurer in green robes, as he set about creating his spell.

Miraak paid him no mind, looking instead at a small boy who approached him, barely reaching the height of his knee.

The child sneered up at him with a pretentious air of self-importance.

"Another adventurer here to lick my father's boots," he said smugly. "Good job."

The Jarl's eyes widened in shock.

Miraak responded in a whisper, without looking.

"_Fus_."

He had heard Sina say it once, and now he seemed able to wield it as well. The effect was a satisfying one. Nelkir yelled in surprise, stumbling back. The boy started to yell something rude, but the words faltered in his throat as Miraak shot a look at him directly for the first time. Thinking better of it, Nelkir ran for his room.

The Jarl watched him leave before turning to Miraak and apologizing, saying he would have a word with his son later.

"Unnng," Sina groaned.

Miraak and Balgruuf joined Farengar and looked down at her.

The little Bosmer muttered something unintelligible, but Miraak heard his name and leaned closer.

"What?" he asked, trying to make her repeat herself.

Sina opened her eyes and looked around dreamily, until she recognized Miraak.

"Hey bestie," she said, sounding delirious. "Oh, _Auriel_, I'm so thirsty."

Miraak heard her say a strange incantation in a foreign language and felt his dragon blood boil. A rush of wind and light, the kind he only saw when absorbing the soul of a dragon rushed around him, and drained away and into Sina.

As he collapsed to his knees, panting for breath, he heard her chipperly make a sound of satisfaction, murmuring, "Much better!"

Staggering to his feet, knees shaking he started to snarl a question but saw she was already unconscious again.

* * *

><p>Miraak walked up the gangplank, boarding the ship bound for the Summerset Isle. The city of Solitude was asleep and the main deck was empty. The few traveling Altmer were already asleep below deck. He leaned against the wood rail, breathing in the salty air through his mask. A tingle along his spine alerted him to the presence of the blood and soul of another like himself.<p>

He sighed and looked up into the folded sail, where Sina sat, legs kicking back and forth as she grinned down at him.

Miraak pulled back his hood, his attempt at going unnoticed no longer necessary.

"You didn't really think I'd let you leave without saying goodbye, didja best buddy?" Sina asked, swinging over the rigging to hang by the back of her knees. Her brown hair fell loose, dangling below her, all traces of silver gone.

He glared at her without saying a word.

"You're not still pouting, are you?" she teased.

"You stole _all _my dragon souls," he said bitterly.

"And I said I was sorry," she said, swinging back and forth for fun. "I even offered to help you track down some more, but you just snarled and stomped off like a grump! Which, by the way, I'm still totally right about. You need to smile more, like me!" she giggled.

Miraak stared flatly at her. He quietly shouted _Fus!_ as she swung back.

"Ah!" she shrieked, slipping from the rigging.

Miraak caught her by a boot with one hand before she could hit the deck.

Sina swung her head forward to look at him from her upside down position and started to holler with laughter.

"That's more like it!" she shouted, pointing a finger at him. "I know you're smiling under that mask right now."

Miraak didn't admit the truth of her words, instead swinging her upward, and allowing her to somersault right side up as he released her ankle. Sina gracefully landed on the deck and straightened up.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked, sounding a little sad.

He gazed across the ocean, looking into the distance, wondering what awaited on the other side.

"I've decided to travel. I need to see the world with my own eyes. Everything has changed while I've been away in Apocrypha."

Sina nodded her understanding.

"What will you do after you've seen the world?" she asked, biting her lip. "Will you come back?"

Miraak looked down at her.

"I haven't abandoned my ambition to rule Solsteim. I'll return to reclaim it, once I'm prepared. You can fight me again then, if you dare."

Sina raised her eyebrows.

"Fight you? Over Solsteim?" she asked, surprised. "Don't be ridiculous. I can't think of anyone better to rule it. In fact, I'd rather you applied for High King of Skyrim," she added hopefully.

"I have no interest in Skyrim," he said, and Sina snapped her fingers in disappointment. "Why did you fight me in Apocrypha in the first place, if you have no dispute with my ruling Solsteim?"

Sina looked up at him in disbelief.

"I told you before! I came up there to be your friend!" she said, innocently adding, "And, okay, maybe to also politely inform you that it's not really okay to go around making people into mindless zombie slaves."

Miraak grumbled.

"I can hardly do it again. Hermaeus Mora rescinded my powers when he tried to kill me, and you have all but stripped me bare of any power I had left."

"Well," Sina said thoughtfully, "Sometimes people like us should go without power. It can go to our head, if we're not careful."

Miraak thought back on his long years spent trapped in Apocrypha as the pawn of a Daedric Prince, a direct result of his lust for power. Thinking of Silje, he regretted that the time had brought him no joy, and only servitude. Lusting after power was not a life of freedom. If he was going to be the master of his fate, he had to pursue something else. He wasn't sure what that was yet, but he had the time, and the luxury, to find it.

"I know next to nothing about your life," Miraak mused, wondering what secrets existed beyond her exuberant exterior.

"No," Sina agreed with a broad smile, "You don't."

Miraak shook his head at her, as the sailors emerged from below deck and prepared the ship to cast off.

He looked back at Sina and saw tears welling up in her eyes and felt a small pang of regret that he was leaving. Though she was half his height, she managed to leap up and throw her arms around his neck and give him a tight squeeze.

"I'm gonna miss you so much," she said, sniffling.

"Do not get snot all over my cloak," he chided, feigning indifference, while quietly realizing he would miss the little, ludicrous woman he privately called friend.

"Too bad!" she giggled, "I'm going to blow my nose!"

Miraak grabbed her, trying to pry her off as she laughed all the harder. As he wrenched her off, he paused briefly as if tired of wrestling, and gave her a warm hug goodbye.

"Stay out of trouble, if you can," he said, setting her down. "Send for me if you're ever in need. I am the only one allowed to kill you and absorb your power."

Sina chuckled.

"I'll know who to call. And if you ever need anything…" she leaned up and whispered in his ear.

Miraak's eyes widened, the words of power to a new shout etching themselves into his mind.

"A goodbye present," Sina explained, wiping her eyes and putting on a smile. "Take care, Miraak."

"You as well," he said. He watched her disembark, and stand at the pier as the ship began to sail away.

When she was nearly out of hearing distance, he called back one last time, thinking of their time together since they met at the summit of Apocrypha.

"_Nox!_" he shouted. An expression of gratitude in dragon tongue.

"What are friends for?!" Sina called back, waving goodbye until the ship turned and disappeared behind a mountain.

Miraak looked across the ocean to the rising sun.

"Odahviing, hm?" he whispered to himself, looking toward the horizon with a smile on his face.

* * *

><p><span>Translations<span>

_Deyra fustir Oblivion, _Daedra banish Oblivion

_Nox, _Thank you


End file.
